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Such

that
sense, my sense breeds with it.

well.

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.

-Fare you

Ang. I will bethink me:-Come again to-morrow. Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lord, turn back.

Ang. How! bribe me?

Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share with

you.

Lucio. You had marr'd all else.

Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold,
Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor,
As fancy values them: but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there,
Ere sun-rise; prayers from preserved souls,
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.

Ang. Well come to me

To-morrow.

Lucio. Go to; it is well; away.

Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe!

Ang. Amen: for I

Am that way going to temptation,

Where prayers cross.

[Aside to ISABEL.

[Aside.

Isab. At what hour to-morrow

Shall I attend your lordship?

Ang. At any time 'fore noon.

Isab. Save your honour!

[Exeunt Lucio, ISABELLA, and Provost.

Ang. From thee; even from thy virtue !——

What's this? what's this? Is this her fault, or mine?

The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? Ha!

Not she; nor doth she tempt: but it is I,
That lying by the violet, in the sun,
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower,
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be,
That modesty may more betray our sense

Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary,

And pitch our evils there? O, fy, fy, fy!
What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo?
Dost thou desire her foully, for those things
That make her good? O, let her brother live:
Thieves for their robbery have authority,

When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her,
That I desire to hear her speak again,

And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?

O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,

With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on

To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
With all her double vigour, art, and nature,
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite ;-Ever, till now,

When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how.

[Exit.

SCENE III-A Room in a Prison.

Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. Duke. Hail to you, provost! so, I think you are. Prov. I am the provost: What's your will, good friar ? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order,

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I come to visit the afflicted spirits

Here in the prison: do me the common right

To let me see them; and to make me know
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
To them accordingly.

Prov. I would do more than that, if more were need

ful.

Enter JULIET.

Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine,
Who falling in the flames of her own youth,
Hath blister'd her report: She is with child;
And he that got it, sentenc'd: a young man
More fit to do another such offence,

Than die for this.

Duke. When must he die?

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow.

I have provided for you; stay a while,
And you shall be conducted.

[To JULIET.

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? Juliet. I do; and bear the shame most patiently. Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,

And try your penitence, if it be sound,

Or hollowly put on.

Juliet. I'll gladly learn.

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you?

Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.

Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act Was mutually committed?

Juliet. Mutually.

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.

Duke. "Tis meet so, daughter: But lest you do repent, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven; Showing, we'd not spare heaven, as we love it, But as we stand in fear,

Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil;

And take the shame with joy.

Duke. There rest.

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,

And I am going with instruction to him.

Grace go with you! Benedicite!

[Exit.

Juliet. Must die to-morrow: O, injurious love,

That respites me a life, whose very comfort

Is still a dying horror!

Prov. 'Tis pity of him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in ANGELO's House.

Enter ANGELO.

Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and pray
To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words;
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth,

As if I did but only chew his name;
And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception: The state, whereon I studied,
Is like a good thing, being often read,
Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity,
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride,
Could I, with boot, change for an idle plume,

7

Which the air beats for vain. O place! O form!
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming? Blood, thou still art blood:
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn,

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Why does my blood thus muster to my heart;
Making both it unable for itself,

And dispossessing all the other parts

Of necessary fitness?

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
Come all to help him, and so stop the air

By which he should revive: and even so
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Croud to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence.

Enter ISABELLA.

How now, fair maid?

Isab. I am come to know your pleasure.

Ang. That you might know it, would much better

please me,

Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

Isab. Even so?-Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring.

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